


Interesting

by Ewebie



Series: Tumblr Shorts [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea has always been that way., But Mycroft doesn't make mistakes... right?, Gen, I mean... we all kinda wonder how they met right?, There is no smut... I'm sorry..., This isn't that kind of fic, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a tumblr post from Swingsetindecember:</p><p>where an international spy gets the wrong intel and strikes up a conversation with an informant but it turns out the other person is just normal. they aren’t a spy, they’re just having a coffee when this well dressed stranger quoted some pop culture reference and they couldn’t help but answer because like, it was so obvious</p><p>now the spy weekly talks shop while the normal person relates</p><p>“almost died last week”</p><p>“tell me about it, the new management is terrible”</p><p>So... I liked this... And I sat on this for months. And I finally did something with it :)<br/></p><p>
<i>Mycroft Holmes was not a man that made mistakes. While, debatably, in his youth he had erred on perhaps a handful of occasions as children are wont to do, as a man, as a professional, and as someone meticulous and pedantic and thorough and nearly omnipotent, he did not make mistakes.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Interesting

**Author's Note:**

> Original Post: http://ewebie.tumblr.com/post/143569730753/swingsetindecember-where-an-international-spy

Mycroft Holmes was not a man that made mistakes. While, debatably, in his youth he had erred on perhaps a handful of occasions as children are wont to do, as a man, as a professional, and as someone meticulous and pedantic and thorough and nearly omnipotent, he did not make mistakes. As such, the one aberration, the almost blemish on his otherwise spotless record, was _not_ , nor would it ever be spoken of as such, a mistake. It was, oddly, more of a happy coincidence. No. Not a coincidence. An inadvertent, ultimately pleasing, mishap. It was also the moment he reconsidered, and from that point forward, revised his employment protocol.

~o~

He sighed. Not heavily, heavily would imply obviously, would convey exactly how frustrated he was at present. He was extremely frustrated at present. But he donned his formal, his political, his polite society smile and continued his stroll down the street. His mobile had not sounded in the past two hours. His contact had clearly not arrived. And the late August heat wave was making him sweat. Mycroft Holmes did not like to sweat. Clarity and specificity were luxuries within his current project, but this had become borderline ridiculous.

It was the fifth cafe, the fifth storefront that fit the possible, and it was, most likely, the last that he’d trial given the number of new freckles this endeavour had caused. It also did not look at all promising. There were only seven people seated at the outside tables, two were together, two were under the age of fifteen, and the remaining were just so unlikely. Nonetheless, he positioned himself as though considering entrance and purchase and mumbled a very quiet, “Roger, roger.”

“What’s our vector, Victor?”

Interesting. She was not at all what he’d expected. A quick once-over and he was only less convinced. Too young. Too naive. Too invested in her current internship at the BBC. Too… Actually, it was quite perfect. Not that they hadn’t previously had trouble dabbling with similar placements. But...

He narrowed his eyes at her. All of the innocent blinking she might offer wouldn’t keep him from protocol. He raised a brow. “ _Gutta cavat lapidem._ ”

She tilted her head curiously. “ _Non vi, sed saepe cadendo_.”

It was an unusual sensation--surprise. Mycroft Holmes was never surprised. The corner of his mouth quirked. “Is this seat taken?”

“Not at all,” she smiled pleasantly.

He settled into the seat, grateful it was in the shade. “The sun is rather brutal this afternoon.”

She hummed an agreement. “The heat leaves me murderous.”

“Quite,” he nodded.

“And what would have a gentleman like you wandering about, risking heatstroke?”

“Unfortunately, it seems it’s part of my job.”

She rolled her eyes. “Jobs are becoming tedious.”

“Clearly. I almost died last week.”

“Tell me about it. The new management is terrible.”

He almost laughed. Almost. But reined it in at the last moment. He couldn’t prevent the small, albeit genuine smile that passed fleetingly across his mouth. “Isn’t it just.” His mobile rang. Odd. He swiftly removed it from his breast pocket and gave an apologetic shrug. “One moment, my dear.”

She waved a rather well-manicured hand, granting permission dismissively, as though she might be the queen herself. She wasn’t.

He stood and paced away from the tables before connecting the call. A rather breathless voice from the other end began before he could even offer a greeting. “Roger, roger.”

Mycroft frowned. “What’s our vector, Victor?”

“ _Gutta cavat lapidem._ ”

Oh. Oh no. “ _Non vi, sed saepe cadendo_.”

“I am so terribly sorry,” the voice rambled. “The last round of meetings ran over and I couldn’t possibly get away. This is horribly unprofessional. I tried to get word, but with the new security measures, I couldn’t place a call without looking suspicious. This is by far, the least productive day I’ve had. If it’s not too much to ask-”

Mycroft cleared his throat and swiftly cut the man off. “I do not appreciate being made to wait.”

“No. No of course not. No, no, no. My apologies again, sir. As I said, it was quite out of my hands, and if I could possibly-”

“Might I ask,” Mycroft cut him off again. “How did you come by the protocol?”

“The protocol, sir?”

“Yes. The protocol,” he said silkily.

“Well, Ovid, sir.”

“I am more than familiar with Ovid. As one might assume any number of educated persons might be. I am more curious about the other one.”

“Oh. Um. It’s… Well, it’s from a movie. Sir.”

Mycroft hummed and considered that for a moment.

“Sir. Again. I’m so terribly sorry. I just wonder… With the time of day… Is it, is it too-”

“My office will be in touch.” It was a small satisfaction to disconnect the call. Small, but not unmeaning. Two hours late. That was beyond unacceptable. His office would be in touch, but not before sending a rather pointed message about promptness. His contact may not see the meeting as life or death, current reports however were leaning to the contrary. He slipped the phone back into his pocked and did sigh. This time. Just the one. Then he turned back to the table he’d recently vacated. The woman was doodling rather absently on a pad of paper, creating an infinite vine of leaves and flowers in deliberate and flawless black ink. Interesting.

“That did not appear to be a pleasant conversation,” she said absently as he resumed his seat.

“No, not quite.” He felt half of his mouth draw back in some semblance of a smile. It probably looked grim. It did look grim. “Tell me,” he began cautiously. “What was it you read when you attended Oxford?”

She raised a brow. “Who said Oxford?”

“The cap on your pen.”

“Classics,” she said frankly.

Interesting. “And how many languages do you speak?”

Her head tilted again. It was an innocent habit. No, not innocent, he noted. Practiced. Practiced to look innocent. “I am fluent in seven languages.”

He nodded slowly. Not overly impressive, but reasonable given her age and the current climate. “Does that include Latin?”

“No.” The corner of her mouth quirked. “I count Latin among the ten other languages in which I’m only proficient. Not fluent.” She hadn’t stopped drawing, but her gaze was resolutely fixed on his.

Interesting. “You don’t seem terribly concerned by my questions.”

“Oh?” Again, practiced innocence.

He studied her for the first time. Really and truly examined her. And… Interesting. Actually, he corrected himself, impressive. “Ah,” he answered. “I assure you I have no machinations towards you, not physically.”

She grinned savagely. “One would hope not.”

“One would be worse for it, I suspect. Krav Maga?”

“I’m very good.”

“You would have to be to become an instructor.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching each other.

“How much longer does your internship last?”

She sighed dramatically. “Ages.”

He pursed his lips. “And… Do you intend to continue your employ with the BBC?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Mmn.” He pulled a card from one of his pockets. “Have you considered governmental work?”

She pinched the card delicately between her thumb and forefinger before tapping it absently against the table. “Government?”

He shifted slightly. “Department of Transportation.”

She narrowed her eyes, “The state of public transit at present is… criminal…” She glanced at the name on the card. “Mr. Holmes.”

“Is it?”

“Small accidents on a major road and it’s absolute carnage.”

He raised a brow.

“Even the traffic patterns,” she smiled. “People have been assassinated for less.”

“Have they?”

“People underestimate me all the time, Mr. Holmes.” She finally set her pen down and studied him. “I find it irritating.”

“I suspect that the directors of your current internship have little need for your broad skill set.”

“No.” She looked at his card again. “They’ve actually no idea. I look good on their brochures and am pretty in the front office.”

He tilted his chin up. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“Yes. I find assumptions can be dangerous.”

“Not for yourself.”

“For those assuming.”

“And being underestimated often will leave you in a position of power.”

“It could…”

He examined her again. Still interesting. “When your employment ceases next month, I would appreciate if you attended an interview. I believe I have a vacancy you might fit quite well.”

“An interview?” She tilted her head. “Shall I bring my CV, Mr. Holmes?”

“If you could. Three copies, please. And at least two references.” He rose from the table and gave a polite nod. “Time and date is on the back of the card. I trust you will find the office without incident.”

She didn’t flip the card. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

He smiled. It was a real smile. It felt rusty, but it was real. “Excellent.” He nearly walked away, but at the last moment, it occurred to him to remind her. “Also, bring a pair of sensible shoes.”

She grinned. “Of course.”

~o~

He listened to her heels click on the tiles as she entered the outer office. Exactly on time. It was appreciated.

“Sir?”

“Send her in, please.”

“Right away.”

He gestured to the empty chair opposite him and watched as she settled neatly, casually, in the seat. “Thank you for coming,” he smiled.

“Thank you for the invitation.”

“I hope you didn’t have any issue in finding the office.”

“None at all,” she said sweetly. It was a bold faced lie. The office was not actually listed in any directory, it wasn’t on any maps, or in the phone book. And neither was he. She didn’t look flustered at all.

“That’s good.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the large desk. “And the remainder of your internship, I trust it went well?”

“The work was rather mind-numbing, actually. Nearly drove me to violence on more than one occasion. Though, we all escaped without bloodshed.”

He resolutely decided not to smile. “There is nothing tedious about attention to detail.”

“Not at all,” she agreed easily. “It’s the unnecessary busy-work that must be… dispatched with?”

“I do appreciate efficiency.”

“Time wasters are terrorist.”

“Quite.” He gave a nod.

She produced a neat, precise packet of papers from her small handbag. “My CV and references, Mr. Holmes.”

“Wonderful. And they are all in order?”

She raised a brow. “The current job market is vicious. I wouldn’t come if not prepared.”

He glanced at her feet for a purposeful moment. “I believe I mentioned sensible shoes.”

She tilted her head, that practiced innocence. “There isn’t a single task you could throw at me that I can’t perform in stilettos.”

He raised a brow. “Are you quite certain?”

“Positive, Sir.”

Interesting.


End file.
